


Quiet Times

by RunningLedges



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningLedges/pseuds/RunningLedges
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some little, peaceful drabbles about gay humanized cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mothwing/Leafpool

When Mothwing comes home, it’s well past midnight. Looking around, she finds wreaths of rosemary strung along the doorways and a strong scent of lavender drifting from the kitchen. She closes the door behind her gingerly and sheds her shoes, tiptoeing down the hall.

There’s the yellow glow of candlelight from around the doorway, flickering and wavering. What caught Mothwing’s attention more, though, was the sound of singing. Light and lilting, in that same ancient language Mothwing could never quite learn.

Leafpool was always better at those things; the hymns, the ceremonials, the devotion to Starclan. She had a beautiful voice and a knack for aromatherapy. Mothwing hadn’t heard her singing in a long, long time.

She walks around the corner and Leafpool doesn’t seem to have noticed her. She’s chopping some colourful vegetables, the click of knife against cutting board setting a rhythm to her melody, and when she moves to grasp a spoon, she walks heel-then-toe in alternating steps, a simple, barefoot dance. She wears long, loose skirts that swirl when she takes long strides, and although the way they sway usually cast an awed, respectful silence over a room, a sense of dignity and strength, when Leafpool twirls around a kitchen, she is just grace. Clean, quiet grace and flowers twined in her hair.

In all the stress of life, Mothwing sometimes forgets how young and bright Leafpool is.

Mothwing must have been gaping, because Leafpool catches her eyes and gives a warm smile. She glides over, pressing a little kiss to Mothwing’s cheek.

“How was halfmoon?” she hums.

“Tiring,” Mothwing replies, and Leafpool’s brows furrow slightly, though her smile remains.

She turns away to toss all the vegetables in a pan and murmurs, “Starclan will guide them. Give them time.” They hit the skillet with a crackling hiss, and the smell of thyme and garlic fills the room. Mothwing breaths it in, stretching luxuriously.

“Is there a particular reason you’re in my apartment?” Leafpool looks up, something bordering on fear crossing her face, and Mothwing adds, ”Not that you’re unwelcome.”

“I wanted to cook for you,” she whispers, and Mothwing’s okay with that, and the singing, and the flowers, and the candles, even if she doesn’t quite understand it.


	2. Silverstream/Mistyfoot

Silverstream snored when she’s asleep. Pretty loudly, too, and Mistyfoot couldn’t help but snicker a bit. There she was, an ethereal beauty in the eyes of all, splayed casually in the passenger seat of Mistyfoot’s car, silky hair running misshapen rivers down the car seat, head tilted back and snoring obnoxiously loud. She’s still beautiful, of course, but that didn’t make it any less funny. Mistyfoot turned up the volume on the jazz station (the only radio channel they could agree on) and set her eyes back on the endless highway.

They had agreed that there was no time in their road-trip’s schedule for breaks, so they alternated driving, Mistyfoot getting stuck with the night shift. She was okay with it, though, because she didn’t have to maneuver around morning traffic (the kind of jams that sent Silverstream into hilarious snarky rants), and the city lights in the distance were dazzling.

There looked like there were no cars for miles, so Mistyfoot shifted gears to go a little faster; neither would want to wait another day to get to the riverside retreat they both dearly loved. She rolled down the window, too, letting the wind slip through her newly short hair.

Silverstream hummed in her sleep, turning a bit. She stopped snoring, too, and Mistyfoot reached out with her free hand to brush her knuckles against Silverstream’s arm. She murmured something, but under the whip of the wind and the trill of the piano solo, Mistyfoot didn’t hear it. She didn’t need to, anyways, because Silverstream was smiling slightly, so whatever it was, it must have been good.

She pulled her hand away, resting it back on the steering wheel. It was what they really needed: a time away from everything else. Some time with each other, too, but Mistyfoot would never say that out loud. She was apprehensive of a lot of things, things she didn’t talk with anybody about, like feelings and fears and this odd sense of responsibility for what happens next. She never told Silverstream about these things, but she always got the feeling her best friend understood.

Mistyfoot could really appreciate someone who didn’t need words to know someone on a near molecular level. Not to say Silverstream wasn’t afraid of using words, because what she said could sting or heal or enlighten more than anything. But because she knew what just a few words could do, she knew how powerful silence could be. It was probably what Mistyfoot loved most about her.

She laughed under her breath at that thought. As if she could pick and choose what she loved most out of all of Silverstream’s wonders.


	3. Krestelflight/Jayfeather

He's messy hair and soft, steady breaths, oak trees and slim hands running fingers over Krestelflight's jawline.  The tension in his shoulders and the furrow in his brow melt away at Jayfeather's cool touch, and he leans into it with a sigh.  Jayfeather gingerly presses his forehead to Krestelflight's.  The room suddenly seems several degrees warmer.

"What's wrong?"  It's more of a command that a question, Jayfeather's voice low.  Krestelflight fights the urge to ignore it altogether and steal a kiss instead.

 **  
**He slips his arms around Jayfeather’s waist, pulling away from his grasp to nestle his head in the crook of his neck.  “It’s fine,”  Krestelflight murmurs.  Jayfeather sighs in reply.


End file.
